the scene of the crime
by XxtaintedflamexX
Summary: despite his gruesome smile, I know his death was neither swift nor painless. After all, I like them to feel the end draw closer.To me, that mangled and scarred body was stunning. murder fic.a look into the past and present of an elusive killer.rated4reaso


**I don't know if I should continue this into a story or not. **

**I'll probably try and finish 'boyfriends and bloodstains' first before starting on this one. I wrote this for my English work but I based the murderer on Muraki from yami no matsuei. I changed his past quite a lot so please don't message me saying 'this isn't how it goes!!!! You horrible author!!!!' please don't! I don't know if its worth continuing or not. Please rate and message! I normally only do author notes for longer stories so if you're wondering where all the humour is, it's being used up in 'boyfriends and bloodstains' at the mo.**

**Luv y'all!!!**

_On the walls, a canvas of gore and fleshy innards, framing that warped art. A perverse masterpiece. A rotting, mutilated shell of a person, wide orbs hollow and blank. Staring but never seeing, his face a picture of silent revulsion, rusted ruby liquid trickling from open wounds, a metallic scent lingering in the air, humid with heavy breathing. Stripped bare of his outer layers and thrown against ashen plaster walls. The handsome teen's corpse was slumped, pale blood-drained arms outstretched as if begging to be saved. Coaxing me into what might've been a friendly embrace. It might've been if not for the oozing gashes, cherry incisions across his wrist, inner thighs and slender neck. The corners of his open mouth slit from ear to ear in a feral, sadistic grin that adorned his petrified visage. However, despite his gruesome smile, I know his death was neither swift nor painless. After all, I like them to feel the end draw closer. To me, that mangled and scarred body was stunning. The crimson flow resting on attractive milky skin, the once glowing flaxen hair now dull, matted and ripe with his own scarlet essence. Death had enhanced his natural good looks and bore art more inspirational then anything ever witnessed. _

_It reminded me of a china doll I had when I was his age. My mama used to collect them, pristine clothing, soft features. She must have had hundreds. She loved their flawless, impassive faces that never contorted in fear, loved their subtle painted eyes that never shed tears when they were thrown against icy stairs, no voices to shriek out in pain as she struck them. Over and over and over again. Unlike me. I was mama's living, breathing doll. The only one with a heartbeat. I was unique. Singular. Distinctive. Individual… different compared to my porcelain friends._

_I was mama's plaything to exploit at will. Just a fragile, cherished puppet dancing to my mama's every whim. How I loathed her. That malicious snake who kept me sheltered all of my lonely life. Locked up from the brutal, pitiless world with only painted eyes to defend me. Safe from all but her when she had another 'episode' as Dr Robinson called them. She would come in, slamming the door and, without forewarning; screech her venomous words at me._

_It was on a harsh winter's darkness that it finally happened. Mama was fast asleep and had left my door unlocked by mistake. I snuck out. Descending creaking stairs. Booming footfalls echoing. Resonating in the hush of the night. Across mahogany floorboards and to mama's sleeping outline, a weighty china figurine clasped tightly in my sweating hands. Slim limbs raised and ridged, lifting the heavy doll fixed above mama's head. Laughing, I crashed the doll fiercely onto her skull. Again and again. Her wicked voice screaming in my head a mix of terror and fury. Again and again. Until my blows halted and she moved no more. Eyes open and cloudy, a bottle of clear liquor knocked over, mixing with her dark cerise fluids. My pulse a violent drum, my forehead dripping with liquid dread, adrenaline surging. I felt… I felt…… alive…._

_Mama never woke up but I was glad. Proud of myself. Righteous. Mama looked just like my friends the toys. Cold, stoic and soulless. The porcelain figure I used was coated in mama, shining crimson on its vindictive face. Broken and shattered. Like mama. Like the boy. Like me._

Soooo…. Good….. I need feedback people!!!! It gets my fingers tapping!!!! Really it does!!!! If you review no flames! I haven't had any so far and I don't wanna start now!!!!


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